Ms Pataki Goes to Washington
by Willy D
Summary: A spinoff from the episode, "Married." The Hillwood gang convinces a stubborn Helga to pursue the highest office.
1. The Good Life

Author's notes: Yes, it's a brand new story! Don't start screaming, now; "What Is and What Should Never Be" is still my number one priority as far as fanfics go. But as I mentioned in an e-mail I wrote the other day, I got the idea for this story earlier this week, tooled around with it, and before I knew it, I had a whole chapter written! So I hope everyone enjoys this until I get another chapter written for the other fic.

Intro: I won't go into extensive details here, but I will set up things just a bit so you all know what's going on in this story. This fic is a spin-off of Helga's dream from "Married." This story will probably have less in common with the dream than one would expect. For instance, it's more in balance with everyone's actual character rather than Helga's idealistic view, since this is written as something that actually takes place (it's not anyone's dream). And then there's the title, obviously a rehashing of the title of the movie, _Mr. Smith Goes to Washington._ I chose that title mainly because it fits the political theme of the story; other than that, I'm not basing too much specifically off of that movie, as I haven't seen most of it (but some elements will be present, nonetheless).

I'll let the story itself fill in the rest of the details. There will be holes in the storyline as we go along, since I'm not putting all the details in right off the bat. Don't start firing plot-related questions at me, because the answers will come later on, I promise!

Disclaimer: _Hey Arnold!_ was created by Craig Bartlett, and "Married" was written by Steve Viksten. I had nothing to do with either of them, unfortunately.

"Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold! Hey—"

Helga reached over, grabbed the potato alarm clock, and threw it against the wall, grumbling and going back to sleep as she did so. The sound of the glass face cover shattering into pieces and the brass housing clanging to the floor drew loud footsteps up the stairs, followed by the bedroom door opening in a cautious manner.

"Aw, Mom! You broke another one!"

More muttering could be heard from under the sheets. "Not now, Phil, I'm trying to sleep."

A second set of footsteps made its way into the room at that time. "Criminy, Helga, that's the third one this week!"

"Oh, pipe down, Football Head. And don't be using that word; it belongs to me."

Arnold went over and shook Helga awake as she tried to roll up into a fetal position. "Come on, Helga; it's after seven. Remember, you've got that book signing down at Slausen's this morning."

She flung the covers off to one side, her patience gone from the pestering her family kept delivering. "That's not until ten! Sheesh, can't I get five minutes of extra shuteye?"

"Whatever you say, Helga," Arnold said as he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

"I am so sick of hearing you say that. But why are you up so early, I thought you had the day off?"

"Phil woke up me up to watch the meteor shower this morning. I promised him I'd get up to watch it last night."

"I'll bet that was exciting."

"It wasn't exactly Sally's Comet, but it was worth it."

"You know it was, Dad!" Phil came walking in with a broom under one arm and another clock in the other. "Okay, Mom, this is the last one we've got in the box. Dad'll have to make more of them if you break this one."

Helga smirked at the sight of the ridiculous clock shaped like Arnold as a kid. He had made several of them as a young boy, but never had to replace the original for almost fifteen years, when Helga chucked it out the window the first morning after their honeymoon. Now they went through them like toilet paper. "Why do you keep making those stupid things? Can't you tell they're driving me to the point of insanity when I wake up?"

"Really? I thought you actually liked them, considering you seem to hate them as much as you 'hated' me at one time."

"Oh, you're _so_ funny. Clean up that mess over there before someone cuts their foot." Helga snatched the broom out from under her son's arm and shoved it into Arnold's lap.

"Me? You're the one who broke it."

"You're the moron who put it there in the first place."

The two of them glared at each other for a moment, then broke into laughter. Arnold spoke between laughs, "Just like when we were back in school!"

"I know! When will we ever just grow up?"

Phil stood off to one side, watching his parents laugh themselves almost to tears. "You guys are weird," he said as he took the broom himself and went to clean up the clock pieces.

"Okay, the bus is here! See you guys later!"

"Hey Phil, don't forget I'm taking you to see the Old Timers game after school!"

"I won't, Dad! Bye, Mom!"

"Bye, Little Bucko!" came the response from within the house.

Standing on the front porch, watching the bus pull away, Arnold smirked at hearing Helga's nickname for their son. She called Phil all the names she used to call Arnold, only she'd throw a "little" in front of them for distinction (with the exception of "football head," which she reserved for Arnold alone). Phil wasn't exactly little anymore, now nearing the end of his year in fifth grade at age nine. Fifth grade was about the same time that Arnold and Helga began to "grow up," as it pertained to the two of them at least. Phil never talked about girls that much, spending most of his time absorbed in either homework or sports. Baseball was of particular interest to him, in much the same way as it was to his father. Arnold had led his team to a college world series title his last year before getting his bachelor's degree, the same year he proposed to Helga.

The two of them celebrated their thirteenth anniversary the week prior. Of course, that day had been the happiest of Helga's life, playing out just at it had in all her childhood dreams. They traveled around the world on their honeymoon (as Helga had always planned), and even had one bottle of their own personal fragrance made during a visit to France. The bottle sat on a shelf placed high in their bedroom, the words "Arnold & Helga" blazed across the front in fancy calligraphy. Naturally, it was the same fragrance that had always been left behind by Arnold's shampoo as a kid, a shampoo whose identity would go with him to the grave, despite Helga's pleas for him to reveal it.

"Hey Arnold, is the paper here yet?"

He jumped, startled by her voice. "What?"

Helga came up behind where he was still standing in front of their house. "Daydreaming again, huh? Come back down to Earth, Hair Boy, and get in here with my paper!"

He picked the newspaper up off the bottom step of the porch and brought it in to his wife. In spite of the fact that he was completely aware of her deep affections for him, Helga continued to boss Arnold around like she'd always done. They both seemed to enjoy having things that way, agreeing that there wasn't any real power struggle but Arnold still allowing Helga to be herself.

Arnold thought about this as Helga went to snatch the paper out of his hands. "You know, Helga, some men are turned on by displays of power and self-assertion by a woman."

She grabbed the paper and began to pull it from his grasp. "You don't say?"

He tightened his own grip. "Do you know any men who are like that?"

Helga tugged harder at the paper. "I know one who's probably going to get turned on pretty badly here in a second if he doesn't let go of my pap—"

Arnold, possessing more physical strength than the once mighty bully, pulled in on the paper and planted his lips on Helga's. He felt her melt away as she usually would at first, and then tighten up again into her natural posture. He released her and gave her that knowing, eyes half-lidded smile he was famous for.

"Can you imagine if you'd done that to me before I confessed my feelings for you?"

"Yeah, Old Betsy probably would have laid me out in a second!" Arnold walked off into the kitchen with Helga trailing behind him. He threw on his apron and chef's hat as he always did when entering the kitchen, and went to work preparing breakfast. Arnold was the cook for the household, his skills greater than Helga's. Even though she had spent many hours in her parents' kitchen preparing her own meals as a child, Helga wasn't in the same league as Arnold. One of his specialties was a close Campfire Lass knockoff, chocolate turtles, which he had improved upon after first making it in fourth grade. Helga sat at the dining room table chewing on a few while reading the comics.

"Man, I can't get enough of that poor Thergood!"

Arnold overheard her reading. "Do you ever read the actual news?"

"I'm getting there! Keep your apron on!"

"Is there anything in there about Congress voting on whether to increase funding for NASA?"

"Let's see…" Helga flipped through the main section looking for an answer. "Yeah, here it is. The House voted it down, 300-180."

"Damn it!" Arnold quipped as he cracked an egg.

"Why do you care so much? You work at the university; it's not coming out of your paycheck."

She heard the clang of kitchen tools over her shoulder at that remark. _Oh boy, here it comes._

"It affects all of us, Helga. All of the technology around us is a product of the space program. If we shut down the space program—"

"Then we shut down the rapid pace of the growth of technology. I've heard your little spiel a hundred times on this issue."

Arnold lowered the tone of his voice after his wife's words. "Helga, do you at least agree with me that it's important?"

"I never said it wasn't."

"That's not what I meant."

She detected the waning in his voice. Sighing, she got up and walked into the kitchen. "Look, I know how you feel about what you think is important, Arnold. You've always been passionate on certain issues, ever since that Scheck character tried to tear down your neighborhood when we were kids. Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing the space program get its money. But we're talking about national policy here, Arnold. You can't just go marching into the Capitol and start selling your case like you do around here."

"Well…I wasn't exactly planning on doing anything about this. It's not that big a deal; I just would have liked to seen them pass the bill. Besides, what would I do if I went there?"

"Exactly, there's nothing you can do, so don't worry about it."

Arnold smiled at that last comment. As a kid, he always heard everyone telling him that when a problem came along. Back then, that comment would have lit the proverbial flame in his heart, causing him to go on a tear until everything was fixed. But things were different now. In the real world, things didn't work like they did when he was a kid. He figured he probably would have gone insane thinking about all the problems in the world if Helga hadn't been around to put everything in perspective.

Arnold finished preparing their breakfast, a skillet with a little bit of everything thrown in. He brought everything to the table and sat down. Helga shoved the paper off to one side and pulled the food in for closer inspection. "Carrots? Green beans? What else did you hide in here?"

"Helga, you can't even taste the vegetables with all the sausage I put in there."

"Ou got at wight!" she mumbled with a mouth full of sausage and egg.

Arnold glanced over at the front page of the paper as he ate, looking at the headlines. "Famine continues in Africa." "Battle over abortion rights continues to rage." "Frankie G., Jr., strikes again, three injured in south side looting." "Taxes climb to record heights in 43 states."

"Helga, do you ever imagine things were the way they used to be?"

She glared up at him. "What time period are we referring to here?"

"Back when we were in elementary—"

"No, I don't," she quickly responded.

He returned the glare, and then remembered what her childhood had been like. "Okay, I'll be more specific. Remember how I was always solving everyone's problems and giving out advice, despite the fact that I overdid it at times?"

"Who says you still aren't?"

A smirk as he continued, "No, not petty, everyday problems like we've got around here. I mean the big stuff, like with Scheck."

"Yeah, I remember all that. I used to call you a bunch of names behind your back about everything you did."

He stopped at that remark for a moment. "Anyway, do you ever feel like we could apply those childhood principles to the problems in the world today?"

Helga looked at him with a puzzled look on her face. "Didn't we just talk about this? You know, 'nothing you can do' and all of that?"

"Yeah, I know. Realistically, there isn't a lot we could do. But do you ever think about being in a position of power to really do something about it?"

"Well, I have thought about a seat of power before, but not for carrying out your good deed agenda."

"Really? What kind of power did you imagine you had?"

"Oh, you know, supreme dictator of the world, stuff like that."

"Maybe you could settle on president, perhaps?"

"Of course! Like that would ever happen."

"Why not? You're just the kind of person we need in the oval office! You'd get all our problems solved in no time!"

"Sure, Mr. Optimism, I'll get started on my campaign tonight. I've got a book signing in a couple hours, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting ready now."

Helga cleared her plate from the table and began ascending the stairs to the bathroom. Back in the kitchen area, she could hear Arnold whistling, "Hail to the Chief." _Arnold, what a hopeless dreamer! Come on, me as president? What would be the odds on that? Still, I have to admit it'd be a pretty sweet gig._ She started humming the song herself as she made her way into the shower.

Two things: First, the spelling of Thergood may be wrong, as I didn't check it with the actual comic (that comic being _Born Loser,_ of course). Also, for those of you familiar with the U.S. House of Representatives, you may have noticed there's a total of 480 Congressmen according to the vote count given. This story does take place in the future, so I increased the number to account for a likely population increase.

So how was that? Let me know if you'd like. Another chapter of "What Is…" will be up within the week, so fret not, my friends. Thanks for reading.


	2. Errands

Author's notes: It's no mistake; I've updated the other story! Thanks for the optimistic reviews on this story so far. This wasn't ever supposed to be a one-shot, by the way. My other story's my number one focus, so if this one only gets one update every month and a half, oh well.

I really like how this chapter turned out. By leaps and bounds, it's undisputedly my longest chapter ever. I didn't want to break it apart, since I really want to get this story set up quicker and not take ten chapters to introduce the story's conflict. There's an underlying theme in this chapter everyone should be able to spot—don't worry about spoiling any surprises if you notice it. Also, be sure to notice my own personal cameo appearance! By the way, Jae, say what you want about the book signing idea, it's been done before!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hey Arnold!_

"Helga, wake up. We're here."

Her eyes rolled open like shades being drawn back on a window. "I wasn't asleep. It's impossible to get any shuteye with your talk radio blasting in my ear. And that's saying a lot, considering you drive like we're in a funeral procession."

"If you want to see this car really move, how about you go stand out in the street about a block ahead?"

She laughed, "Okay, I can take a hint!" Helga climbed out of the car, shut the door, and leaned back in through the window. "Please, Arnold, ten minutes and then you can leave!"

Arnold put the car in gear. "I already told you I'd try to make it back before you're done."

"But there won't be anyone here by then! I need you in there now to help me deal with the crowd!"

"Helga, there is no one more capable on the face of the planet to deal with those people than you."

She thought about his remark for a second, and an arrogant smile grew across her face. "Point taken. In fact, it'd probably be more harmful to have a wet blanket like you along to weigh down my powerful demeanor. All right, get out of here, Geek Bait. Be back by two to pick me up."

"Two o'clock, gotcha. See you later!"

"Okay, say hi to everyone for me!"

Helga turned and made her way to the back door as Arnold pulled away. Mr. Slausen was waiting anxiously just inside. "Ms. Pataki, there you are! It's five minutes past ten; you can't keep a huge crowd waiting like this!"

They made their way through the back supply room toward the main store floor.

"Look, Slausen, I'm aware of how you like to blow things way out of proportion. Exactly how many people are we talking here?"

"Oh, too many to count, ma'am! But if I had to give you a number, I'd say at least a thousand!"

She raised an eyebrow at that figure. She and Arnold didn't go by the front of the store on their way over, prompting instead to head down the alley in the rear. If a couple books were found misplaced, lying on the floor, Slausen would say someone had ransacked the place. Helga went to open the last door separating her from the store and her signing table, expecting to see fifty people at best.

Arnold rolled up in front of the boarding house in his Packard. It wasn't the same Packard his grandfather had once owned; this was a brand new, limited edition re-release, modernized in the same fashion as several other classic cars had been recently. It was different looking to say the least, something Arnold had grown to appreciate over the years. As a kid, the crazy quirks of a life in the boarding house would bother him, since it didn't feel like a "normal" life. His grandmother celebrating all the holidays on the wrong days didn't help much, either. But after he married Helga and settled down into a normal life (relatively speaking, of course), he realized just how special his childhood had been.

He walked up to the front door and instinctively stepped aside as he opened it. On cue, a throng of animals, led by the replacement house pig, Isabel, came stampeding out and went charging down the street. Arnold mumbled under his breath, "Young, pink and in a hurry…"

"Hey, Arnold! Is that you?"

"Yeah, Dad!"

"Come on back, we're in the kitchen!"

The house seemed pretty quiet to Arnold as he strolled down the hall. Despite the fact that the boarding house was now more of a retirement home when you considered the residents' ages, all the familiar tenants still managed to maintain a raucous state of affairs. Upon entry into the kitchen area, Arnold discovered the source of the peace and quiet. As long as he'd lived there as a child, breakfast tended to be the most low-key meal as far as the arguing went.

"Hi, Son. Coffee?"

"No thanks, Dad." Arnold went over to the table where the boarders were all seated and greeted everyone, and then took a seat next to his mother, who gave him a kiss on the oversized cheek she was chiefly responsible for. "So how are things going around here, folks?"

Stella rolled her eyes, "The same way they've always been going. The place is still on the verge of just collapsing into a pile of bricks at any moment. I have to admit, though, your father's made a pretty good dent in the maintenance to-do list this past week."

"Dad, I thought you said you were taking the week off for 'good old rest and relaxation?'"

Miles shook his head as he came over to the table with his coffee. "I know! That's what I thought, too! But you know what happens when your grandpa finds out someone's going to around the boarding house with nothing to do."

Arnold caught on immediately. The chore list for the house was almost perpetual in nature. If you had even one spare minute, there was something that needed to be done. "Speaking of the old man, where's he at?"

"He left the table a few minutes ago mumbling something about working overtime at the 'office.'"

A toilet flush could be heard at the first mention of the codeword. The door down the hallway opened and Vine Street's candidate for oldest living person made his way back to the kitchen table. "Oh, hey, Short Man!"

"Hi, Grandpa. How've you been feeling lately?"

"I can't complain. Being able to feel anything at 110 is something to be thankful for, I guess. I would have thought after your grandma passed on that my trips to the office would become a little less frequent." Phil returned to his seat and glanced down at his plate. "Hey! I had three pieces of toast on this plate when I got up!" He eyed his culprit.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't play dumb with me, Kokoshka! You're a little cheat, you've always been a little cheat, and you always will be!"

"Please, Grandpa, don't get so upset. I think your mind might be playing tricks on you again; by my count you only had two pieces."

"My mind's sharp as a tack! You couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel!"

"Okay, that's it! Either the two of yous shut up or I'm going to plant my old sledge up somebody's—"

"Hey! Let's all calm down before someone has a heart attack!"

"Too late, Oskar already is!"

"I am not!"

"Enough! Anyone who keeps it up isn't getting any dinner tonight!" Miles received the silence he demanded immediately. Threats to deny food service usually did the trick. He turned back to Arnold. "So how are things proceeding with the big astrology project?"

"Okay so far. The other professors are really accommodating and patient, considering how many things they have to explain to me as they're going along."

"I can't blame them! I bet they've never had an archaeologist trying to help update star maps!"

"Yeah. I think that might have been interesting to pursue if I hadn't gone into archaeology. The two fields have a few things in common, with regard to the whole searching aspect."

"I suppose." Miles leaned in and lowered his voice. "Listen, Arnold. I have something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you here. Let's go up to your old room if you don't mind."

The two men excused themselves from the kitchen and ascended the stairs. Miles walked ahead of Arnold, pulling down the familiar stairs and leading the way into the loft. The room looked nothing like it had when Arnold had lived in it. Miles had turned it into a study, noting the room's out-of-earshot location as a nice bonus. A couple things were left unchanged though, and one of them was the remote control couch. Arnold flipped it down and took a seat as his father sat across the room in a leather desk chair.

"So, Dad, what's the news?"

Helga was already beginning to worry about the possibility of carpal tunnel syndrome. After getting blown away by the first glimpse of the crowd, which was actually in _excess_ of a thousand, she had spent the first half hour of her allotted time writing almost nonstop.

A fan, about 20 years old by Helga's impression, placed his book before Helga at her polite request, _"Next!"_

"Helga, it's a pleasure to meet—"

"Less hand shaking, more book signing, pal! Name?"

"Uh, it's Will."

Helga quickly scribbled down his name, wrote in whatever cliché came to mind at the time, signed her own name, and shoved it back in his grasp. "Thanks for stopping by. _Next!"_

A younger girl, 12, maybe 13, ran up to the table, elbowing Will out of the way. "Hi! Can you make it out to Jenny?"

"Sure thing, Babe." Helga's pink pen danced around the inside cover for a few moments and the book returned to its owner's hands. As the kid took off with the book, Helga noticed that Will was still standing by the end of the table. "What are you still doing here?"

"I just wanted to ask you a couple questions about the book."

Being in her classic, full-on bully mode, Helga went to tell the guy off, but stopped when she sensed a certain sincerity in his interest. "Okay, but make it quick, and I'm going to keep signing while you're talking if you don't mind. _Next!"_

Will began his querying as the line continued to proceed up to the table. "Did you really write all the poems in this book when you were only in elementary school?"

"Every one of them."

"Aw, come on! This stuff is too good for a nine year old! Where did you ever pick up the word 'Prometheus' at that age?"

She smirked as she recalled that particular poem. "I'm not sure. Most of the time I picked up the word at some point earlier, and then it just found its way out in the poem in the appropriate place."

"Are you sure you didn't edit in any of these words in when you published?"

Completing another book, Helga stood up and looked him in the eye. "Listen, Pal. This book is a complete, unabridged collection of my childhood poems, published for the sole purpose of giving the fans an extra taste of my work on top of all the other stuff I've already done. No one said you had to buy it or believe it."

Will was about to respond when he noticed her cracking her knuckles in anticipation of a confrontation. "All right, then. I'll just be going now. Thanks for signing my book and everything…" he quickly spoke as he slowly walked away from the table.

As soon as he was out of sight, Helga turned back to the remaining nine hundred plus. _"Next!"_

"They're threatening to condemn the boarding house?"

"That's what I said. They were pretty generous, actually. We've got six months to bring it up to code."

Arnold was in near-total shock. "But how? What happened to the historical landmark protection and all of that?"

"Building codes are building codes, Arnold. If the place isn't up to statewide standards, the government can override any historical precedent in the interest of safety."

"So you haven't told any of the boarders yet?"

"No. I didn't want to get them worried about it, because I should be able to get all the work done on it after I retire next month."

"Dad, I'll come by as often as I can, do whatever it—"

"I know, I know. I appreciate it, Arnold. But to tell you the truth, I don't think the codes will be what do us in. The government's pressuring us to offer up the available rooms for the low-income housing division."

"What? But isn't everyone else living in the building paying next to nothing as it is?"

"They don't care about that. As long as the room's empty, they want to make us give it away."

"So couldn't we just find some regular tenants to pay full price?"

"I've had the ads running on the rooms in two papers for almost a month now. No one's interested in living in a boarding house anymore."

Arnold rubbed his hands across his face, sighing.

"Don't worry about it right now, Son. We don't have to give up the rooms until after they show up again in six months to check the building. The next school year will have started by then, and I think I can snag a few college students to take up the rooms."

"That sounds good. Well, Dad, I need to get going. I've got a few more stops to make before I get back to Slausen's to pick up Helga."

"Oh, right! She's got that book signing today! I hope a lot of people showed up."

"Could you make this one out to Roger, this one out to Camille, this one out to Phyllis, this one—"

"Look, Buster, one per customer. If you want your whole family to get signatures, bring 'em in."

"They're right behind me." The middle-aged father motioned to the woman and three kids behind him.

Helga rolled her eyes and quickly signed the five-book pile. As soon as the group thanked her and walked away, she quickly got up from the table and retreated into the ice cream parlor.

The experimental partnership between Slausen's and Lamoreaux's started a couple years after Arnold and Helga got married. Word had it that Lamoreaux came into Slausen's shop one day and inspiration struck Lamoreaux as he simultaneously read a book and partook of a banana split. The two entrepreneurs supposedly discussed their plans long into the night, fueling themselves with Slausen's special coffee wake-up shakes. By the next morning, they had agreed to franchise out each other's business. Slausen built a second ice cream shop into the existing Lamoreaux bookstore, while a building next to the original Slausen's became vacant, allowing Slausen to knock down each wall and join the two buildings together. Each store kept it's original name, though both offered the same unique combination of reading and ice cream to their customers, something that, to the current day, was threatening to put the national chain bookstores out of business in Hillwood.

"Hey, Slausen! I need to banana split over here!"

The old man came over to take Helga's order at the bar seat. "Right away, Ms. Pataki! Is there anything you'd like with that?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it, give me one of those good old coffee shakes—oh, and do you have any more of that caffeine-enhanced chocolate syrup?"

Slausen hushed her as he moved in closer to whisper his answer, "Don't tell anyone about that! If this store wasn't doing such great business, I would have gone out of business from those lawsuits claiming I gave customers heart attacks from elevating their heart rates!"

"Well, don't you have any stashed somewhere?"

"Yeah, there are a couple bottles in the back fridge. I keep them labeled as 'malted chocolate;' no one ever orders that anymore."

Helga smiled at the old man's wile as he barked the order to someone in the back. He came back to her for a brief moment, "I'll go see how long I can keep the crowd occupied while you eat. They shouldn't be too long with your order."

"Gotcha." Helga glanced down at her writing hand as Slausen went to deal with her impatient fans. For a moment, she thought she could literally _see_ the pain in her poor fingers. _Two hundred down, a thousand plus more to go._

She glanced over at an older man ordering nearby, listening in as the girl behind the counter asked him, "Would you like anything on that, sir?"

"Yes. I didn't actually see this on your menu, but could I get malted chocolate syrup by any chance?"

"I'm not sure. Let me go check on that, sir."

Helga chuckled as she took the first bite of her split.

"Hey, Harold, look who's here!"

A large man with a pinkish hue in his face emerged from a meat freezer. "Arnold! Hey, how's it going?"

"I'm doing great, Harold. How are things going for you guys?"

"Eh, we're doing okay. Stinky here just planted a couple of his giant pumpkins for the holidays later on this year."

"Already? But it's only March!"

"I'm getting a head start on it this year, Arnold. There's been talk of a drought over the summer, and I can't afford to not have them fully grown by November."

"I see. Well I'll be sure to pick up the first pie when Thanksgiving rolls around. Are you guys on lunch or something right now?"

"I was just about to sit down for lunch when you walked in! In fact, now that you bring it up, I'm starving! Arnold, if you need anything, Stinky'll have to get it for you." Harold bolted for the back of the store, hell-bent on getting his meal.

"You shouldn't have done that, Arnold. Every time someone talks about a meal, he goes running off on break to eat."

"Sorry, I forgot. Well, I've got a couple things I need. Do you mind?" Arnold held a list over the counter.

"Heck, no! I'll have it for you in a jiffy!"

Arnold took a stroll around the store as Stinky went and prepared everything on Arnold's list. P&B Foods was another rapid success story as far as businesses went in Hillwood. Beating out the nearby national chain stores, Stinky and Harold had cornered the town grocery market. Harold was known throughout the city for his exceptional meat selection, while Stinky's fame came from his produce, primarily his now annual attempt to grow the largest pumpkin in the world. He held the record, although he hadn't broken it since age nine when he grew the first mutant plant. The store cleaned up during the holidays, overflowing with customers buying holiday hams, turkeys, and of course, pumpkin pies.

"Here you go, Arnold. You were really lucky on that duck, by the way. Harold's reluctant to order any more of the expensive meats right now."

"Why is that? I thought duck was selling pretty good."

"It is with our cost structure as it is now, but after next month, we might have some problems. The state's going to have a vote on whether to extend sales taxes onto food."

"Are you serious? Can they do that?"

"I'm afraid so, Arnold. We'll be taking a mighty big hit if they pull that one off. Don't make much sense to me. After all, a feller's got to eat."

"That's right. Well, I hope things go in your favor, Stinky. I need to get going now."

"All right, Arnold, see you around. You'll be sure to say hi to Helga for me?"

"Sure thing, Stinky. Thanks!"

_"Next!_ Come on, come on, let's move it here! Name?"

The young girl stood there speechless. A guy behind her (Helga guessed it was her boyfriend, they both looked to be in high school) nudged her hard in the back, "Get with the program, Jamie!"

The girl whipped around and almost knocked him down. "Shut up! God, I'll talk to her when I'm good and ready!" She turned back and spoke in a sweet, tender voice, "My name is—"

"Done. Move it or lose it, Kiddo." Helga forced the book into the girl's hands and pointed her away. She went back to fighting with her boyfriend as she stomped away, insulted, just as many of the more annoying fans became when they met their heroine. Helga turned back to the remaining people in the line, which was down to about five hundred. She eyed the next few in line, all college kids, all clearly intimidated by Helga's demeanor. Helga changed up her approach, opting now to give the next victim a mischievous smile as she motioned him over with a curl of her index finder. The poor guy gulped and glanced back at the others in the line, as if to say goodbye. _This makes it all worthwhile._

Arnold arrived at his final stop before returning to Slausen's. He pulled into a stall on the top floor of a parking garage marked, "Reserved – Friends of CEO." This special parking area was directly across from the CEO's office in the next building over, with a bridge/tunnel connecting the two structures. Arnold walked across and made his way into a large, cavernous lobby with a secretary seated in the middle. "Hi, Timberly."

The woman looked up from her computer, her face lighting up with a smile instantly. "Arnold! Good afternoon! What are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd drop in and see how your brother's holding up. Is he in right now?"

"As far as I know. If he's not in his office, he'll be down the hall in a testing meeting."

"Great, thanks Tim. Don't work too hard!"

"Arnold, when have I ever?"

The two of them laughed as Arnold made his way down a hallway toward his friend's office. _The family business,_ he thought as he reached the CEO's door and knocked.

A voice from within replied, "Whoever it is, I'm busy as hell! Come back after three!"

"I can't; Helga's expecting me back at Slausen's by two!"

There was no immediate verbal response, just the sound of a phone being placed back on its receiver and footsteps quickly approaching the door. A lock clicked and the large panel of wood swung open. "Arnold, my man!"

"How's it going, Gerald?"

"How does it sound like it's going? I can't even take a lunch today I've got so much stuff to do around here!"

"Oh. But is that good?"

"Depends on if everything I do today isn't a waste of my time. You got time to come with me down to the testing room? Everyone's going to be there."

"Yeah, sure." The two of them left the doorway to Gerald's office and started walking back the way Arnold came in. "How are things at home?"

"To tell you the truth, not as good as I'd like. Phoebe and I are working such strange hours right now we've hardly got any time for the kids."

"Oh, really? I thought it was strange Phoebe was in her office almost every time I went by it."

"She's obsessed, man. Between the research and the students always coming to her for help, she hardly ever gets home before seven or eight at night. You should know what it's like; you've both got pretty busy schedules over at that college."

"I always try to make time for Phil, and I tell my students that when they start wasting my time."

"What can I say, Phoebe's an overachiever. At least she's decided to take the week off for spring break."

They reentered the large lobby and went through the first door down another hall. Three others were waiting in the room when Gerald and Arnold walked in.

"Okay, people, before we get down to business, I'll let you all say hi to Arnold and everything."

Arnold made his way around the room, meeting and greeting each person.

"Hi, Eugene. How's the arm doing?"

"Oh, just fine, Arnold. I've broken this one five times now, and it seems to heal faster each time!"

"That's good. Nice to see you again, Rhonda."

"Always a pleasure, Arnold! Be sure to tell Helga I'm glad she followed my advice on the outfit she wore on the cover of her new book."

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that. And how are you doing, Wolfgang?"

"Same as always, Arnold. Can't complain when you get paid to break stuff for a living, you know?"

"All right, everyone, let's get down to business here. Arnold, you're welcome to have a seat and observe. Rhonda, let's start with you. How are the new designs going over on the ladies' Wacko VI?"

"Smoothly, of course! It's some of my best work! They'll fly off the shelves come Christmas!"

"Fantastic! You're a valuable asset, my dear! Eugene, how has the men's Wacko IX been holding up in our real world trial?"

"Surprisingly well, Gerald. I fell down one particularly small manhole the other day, and the watch smashed against one of the rungs you use to climb out without so much as a scratch!"

"Outstanding! Keep up the good work! Wolfgang, what's been cooking down in your extreme endurance testing department?"

"As much as it shames me to report, I still haven't found a way to break these stupid things! We brought in a new double-mass steamroller with a wheel that's twice as dense as the heaviest currently available to try to run the watches over."

"Yeah, and?"

"We demolished the concrete floor in the testing facility, but the watches came out sparkling."

"Absolutely amazing! Keep trying, Big Guy! Okay, anyone have anything else to report? No? Great. Excellent work, everyone. We'll meet again at the same time next week. And don't forget, Wolfgang: ten grand bonus if you bring back a watch in more than one piece!"

"I'll try my best not to disappoint!"

The testers left to go back to their respective departments as Arnold and Gerald walked back into the lobby. "Wow, Gerald. You've got the place running like clockwork. It still blows me away what you've got going here."

"You and me both. It's surreal to me a lot of the time, man. If someone had told me I'd build this company up to a nationwide conglomerate after I bailed on it back in fourth grade…unbelievable! Still, there are a lot of things to bring me back to reality, if you know what I mean."

"Like what?"

"One word, Arnold: government."

"Are they taxing you to death also?"

"You have _no_ idea, man. I go down to accounting every once in a while just to check up on things, and without fail, every time there's a new tax on this or that. Almost 60% of the gross income to the company goes to taxes, Arnold!"

"No way! I didn't think it was more than half!"

"Yeah, well, ain't much we can do about it except pay up. It's a lucky thing the company's doing such good business right now. I can imagine what it'd be like if I was running a smaller company like Stinky and Harold."

"Funny you should mention them, Gerald. I was just by there today. It seems the state's going to impose sales taxes on food now."

"Say what? Wonders never cease, I'll tell you that."

They walked about halfway across the bridge to the parking garage and looked out the glass enclosure at the city below.

"It's not like it was when we were kids, is it Gerald?"

"No, it sure isn't."

"I can still remember when the worst thing that could happen was forgetting your homework. Mr. Simmons was pretty lenient on us for that compared to what they do to you if you forget to pay your taxes."

"Amen to that. But we're not living in Neverland here. We had to grow up sooner or later."

"I suppose. Well, Gerald, I gotta get going. Helga demanded that I get back before she gets done with her whole signing deal."

"That's okay, I got twenty million other things to get done before I go home. I'll talk to you later, buddy."

They extended their hands to each other and performed their secret handshake, something age failed to eliminate from their lives. As they parted, Arnold wondered for the first time since he'd left Slausen's how Helga was holding up.

"Oh my God, I've been waiting all day to see you!"

"Yeah, so has everyone else that's been in line before you. Name?"

"Cecile."

Helga glanced up at the woman. That name rang a bell with her, but she couldn't recall where it came from at the time. Whoever she was, Helga didn't recognize her face, so she shrugged it off and quickly scribbled her Hancock in the book. "There you go, Toots." The girl walked off and Helga promptly dropped her head down on the table in a brief respite. _Where the hell is Arnold? It's a quarter to two! I'm going to kill that ingrate, running off to go do who knows what while I sit here and deal with the masses._

She could hear and feel another book being placed in front of her. "Name?" she spoke into the table.

"It's up to you. I'd prefer my real name, personally."

Helga glanced up. "It's about damn time you got back! Where did you go, Seattle?"

"I went by the boarding house to see how my parents were doing, then I stopped by Stinky and Harold's to pick up some stuff for dinner tonight, and then I swung by Gerald's office before I came back here. Stinky says hi, by the way."

"Wonderful," she said as she through her head back down on the table. "Take a seat while I finish up here."

Arnold glanced over his shoulder. "I think I'm the last one, Helga."

She leapt out of her chair. "Why didn't you say anything? Let's get out of here before the last minute crowd shows up and we get stuck for another hour." Helga grabbed Arnold by the arm with her good hand and dragged him into the ice cream half of the store. She asked the girl behind the counter, "Where's Slausen?"

"He's in the back somewhere, would you like me to go get him?"

Helga quickly glanced back into the bookstore. A half dozen people had just wandered in with copies of her book. "No, forget about it. Just tell him I'll come by later in the week for my compensation." She promptly yanked Arnold out the ice cream parlor door and shoved him toward the Packard parked at the curb. "Get in and drive before they spot us!"

"Helga, what's the big hurry? I don't see anyone out here."

"Hey, she's getting in her car!" One of the people had spotted her and called the information back into the store.

Helga ran around to the driver's side door and shoved Arnold over into the passenger seat. "Move it, Football Head! I'm driving!"

"Ow! Helga, my pant leg's caught on the gear shift!"

"Whatever, just put it in drive!"

Helga started the car as the group of fans came running toward the car, waving their books to get her attention. With no patience left, she ripped Arnold's pant cuff in half and threw the car in gear, leaving the fans in a cloud of smoke as she peeled away.

More notes: Hey, you made it through the whole thing! If anyone's confused about ages, we're about thirty years ahead of the show, so do the math. This story will probably have long chapters like this from here on out, so be ready for a reading endurance trial with every update. I'll try to write another chapter for this story before the end of the year. Thanks for reading!


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